Tadpoles and Trouble
by attheturnofthetide
Summary: Lindir has to deal with a fuming Glorfindel: Erestor's been up to no good again. It's also little Estel's ninth birthday, and there is to be a feast to remember. But alas! How will Lindir be on time if the Balrog-slayer is still (inevitably) bent on revenge? Silliness and fluff, inspired by Erestor's works


Tadpoles and Trouble

It was evening, and the chief counsellor of Elrond was nowhere in sight.

Lindir and Glorfindel had searched the library, the kitchens, the stables, and the long halls of Rivendell, and were tiring quickly. Glorfindel's mood was soured, while Lindir was in desperate need for food.

They both marched across the floor, one fuming and one dreaming of food.

"We have already searched his room," offered a passing elf.

"Thank you," called Lindir back.

Glorfindel muttered vile remarks about irresponsible counsellors while Lindir fretted: where should they look next, and when would they have dinner?

"How about his study?" said he so suddenly that the mumbling elf jumped. "You know how much Erestor adores writing elaborate entries in that diary of his. In which direction lies the study?"

He received a grunt in return.

They set off in the opposite direction, walking past Lord Elrond not once but three times, and occasionally falling into Prince Elrohir's well-placed traps. But soon enough, they reached a blue door. It was slightly open, and the scratchy sounds of a barely audible quill on paper drifted from inside.

It was marked '_DO NOT ENTER– INTERRUPT AT YOUR OWN RISK_'.

"Are you sure?" said Lindir worriedly. "Maybe we should go for dinner. It seems as if Erestor is in deep thought and would not react well to being, er, interrupted."

There was an awkward pause.

"Ai Valar!" snorted Glorfindel. "He always has this sign here. It was installed one year ago, for the purpose of keeping me out. See?"

He flicked the sign, and turned it over. Lindir was not sure what to say, but he squinted and his eyes caught a few lines. They were written in tiny print: '_Especially you, Glorfindel, get lost!_'

"So... I think we should leave," said Lindir, and started making his way to the dining room. Lindir could smell food already; there was a feast tonight, celebrating Prince Estel's ninth birthday. His mouth watered. He could almost taste the huckle-berries…

Glorfindel took hold of Lindir's arm and steered him to the door again.

"I am not leaving until I settle matters with Erestor," he said in a low and menacing voice. "He will learn that you do _not _put tadpoles down my tunic without my permission."

"Tadpoles?" choked Lindir. "In your tunic?"

"Stop laughing," snapped the disgruntled elf. "We are going in now, provided there is no more delay."

His clear blue eyes clouded into calculating anger, and he set his mouth into a thin line.

Lindir squeaked.

Glorfindel slammed the door open, and was submerged in icy cold water. Moments later, as he stood bug-eyed in shock, he realized there was a bucket on his head.

"YOU!" he yelled, and Erestor, who was busily scribbling on a piece of parchment, fell over.

The enraged warrior had let go of Lindir's arm when the water splashed upon his best shirt. He made a swift escape running towards the dining room, deciding that he would have cake first. The last thing he heard, however, was Erestor's loud protests.

Lindir rounded the corner and was back in the study. Cursing, he sped the other way.

"It's not my fault!" shrieked Erestor in the distance. "Elladan blackmailed me!"

– – –

Finally, Lindir arrived in front of the dining room. The carved doors were unexpectedly shut, and sounds of clattering silverware echoed repeatedly. He shrugged, and flung the door open (a hard task, considering its weight). Hundreds of elf-eyes turned to him.

"Rats!" he thought. "They started without me!"

"Welcome, Lindir," someone called. "You're late!"

Elven snickers echoed across the long table. Lindir turned red, then pale, then ghastly purple. Lord Elrond sat at the very head of the table and gave him a long look. He gulped.

"My deepest apologies," Lindir said, and bowed as elegantly as he could, scowling as he tipped over to the right a little. "There was a bit of trouble I had to deal with, my lord."

"Trouble?" said Elrond, frowning. "What trouble?"

Silence in the dining room. Every ear was pricked and every eyebrow raised.

"Erestor put tadpoles in Glorfindel's tunic for a dare," Lindir said evenly as he struggled not to laugh. "From what I hear, he wriggled like a worm, and thoughts of revenge made him confront the counsellor, thus rendering both late for the feast. They should be here soon."

Snickers again. The lord of Rivendell's eyes were amused, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"Seat yourself," he said, and Lindir gladly obeyed.

A good half-hour passed. Lindir was on his fourth serving of huckle-berries and soup, when he heard voices in the hall. Everyone gave him a quizzical look, and he looked at them apologetically.

"That should be my head counsellor and his friend," said Lord Elrond.

Two elves gleefully pulled the door-handles, and the doors slowly creaked open.

Everyone choked.

"Happy birthday, Estel," said Glorfindel, who was dragging Erestor by the collar. "Happy birthday," echoed Erestor, who was kicking and flailing and doing everything to get out of the warrior's iron grip.

"Have a seat, both of you," said Lord Elrond sternly. "This is a serious occasion, and you two are late. I suppose you were playing with tadpoles?"

There were no snickers this time. All the elves of the valley were howling with laughter.

Looking insulted, both elves came over to Lindir and sat beside him, Erestor to the left and Glorfindel to the right.

"Good entrance," commented Lindir, as he took his eighth serving. He was answered with two identical furious glares (but Glorfindel's was more venomous; he was, after all, sopping wet.) Lindir shrugged, then went to get more cake.

The two friends (or, more like, enemies) ate, glowering. The birthday boy skipped over to them.

"Mister Eee-restor?" he drawled, and the counsellor snapped to attention.

"Yes, Estel?"

"Why is Mister Glorfindel wet?"

Erestor and Glorfindel coughed simultaneously.

Lindir paid no attention to either, and blissfully took his tenth serving.

– – –

No longer did anyone pay attention to them. All the other elves were enjoying themselves tremendously. They had had a filling meal, something to laugh about, and a rather witty prince to entertain them (indeed, Estel had an uncanny ability to make even the most severe elf-lord laugh like a child.)

Lindir noted with satisfaction that the two older princes, Elladan and Elrohir, were behaving quite nicely and were not up to anything, for once. They sat discussing important matters with their father, while the Lady Arwen chased a madly giggling Estel around the room.

Very usual, peaceful even, for a feast in Rivendell. Lindir had a feeling that nothing… disruptive would occur. But that soon proved wrong.

Elladan began to saunter over towards their side of the table, his face bearing an all-too familiar smirk. Out of the corner of his eye, Lindir saw Erestor pale in a remarkably short amount of time. He could tell that the counsellor was praying fervently for a quick deliverance.

"Hello there, Glorfindel," said Elladan. "How goes life?"

"Wet," growled the said elf. His eyes narrowed into slits.

"That is unfortunate," said the elf prince breezily. "Well, Elrohir and I are having great fun. Do you know, we've never really forgotten the time you greased the stairs during our coming-of-age ceremony, causing us to slip down eighty-four steps and ruining our ceremonial tunics. That is why I am sad to admit that we both plotted our revenge tactfully, using the most unexpected thing in Rivendell. I deeply apologize about your best shirt however. It has regretfully become rather… well… unbecoming, and…"

"... slimy," added Erestor without thinking.

Immediately, he regretted it.

Glorfindel roared an unintelligible challenge at him, waving his fork, yellow hair flying. Elrond sighed from his end of the table and tapped his glass, dismissing the elves (and probably trying to prevent another fistfight).

The elves of the valley all stood. They bid merry farewells and many clambered to the trees, laughing and singing lullabies and ballads (giving Elrond an even larger headache). Lady Arwen had finally caught her adopted brother and was leading him back by his hand. In the setting sun, Lindir could spot two silhouettes, one clad in armor and the other in robes, involved in a teeth-gnashing, violent brawl that would no doubt end late in the night. He winced and hurried back to his home. The elf had eaten a dessert too many, and was in no mood to separate two strong and thrashing opponents.


End file.
